Journeys to the Mythical Past

by Zecharia Sitchin

  But no matter what had happened in earlier times, what about the recent mystery of the Niche coverings, surveillance cameras, and the puzzling SAND that I have found?

  In addition to the initial photo taken from the Queen’s Chamber and showing red and black plastic pipes (plate 6), Cogswell’s photos also show, in the first 15 feet into the tunnel, discarded plastic piping. This is most incriminating in regard to the present mystery: It indicates that diggers were in the tunnel in recent times. Were they the same ones who also installed the surveillance cameras and covered the Niche’s hollow?

  Did they enter farther in, reach a barrier, then break through it and find sand, as the French did in the passage? And, most importantly, did they stop there, without continuing to find the chamber? That was highly unlikely: Once the sand behind the barrier was removed (Cog-swell did not see any sand), they must have gone on and discovered the chamber back inside. So WHO were they, and WHY was it kept a secret?

  At my request, the three of us agreed to say nothing about the discovery, to see WHO will some day disclose the existence of the unknown chamber—and thereby confess to the secret digging and reveal WHAT might have been found there. But, as far as I know, so far no one did.

  The authoritative The Complete Pyramids states this in regard to the Queen’s Chamber and the Niche (of which it shows a photo):

  The so-called Queen’s Chamber was certainly not for the burial of a queen. Very probably it was a sealed room for a special statue of the king, representing his Ka or “spiritual force.” This is suggested by the existence of a corbeled niche, 4.7 m (15 ft. 5 in. high, on the east wall of the chamber, which may once have held such a statue. A square pit at its base was deepened by early treasure seekers.

  The book, dated 1997, thus makes no mention of a chamber deeper inside. The book’s author, Dr. Mark Lehner, has collaborated with Dr. Hawass in numerous Giza projects; what he says can be taken to be the official word of the Egyptian Antiquities Authority. Articles in the press and Internet sites continue, to this date—ten years later—to state that the tunnel is “a blind passageway.”

  So this chapter is the first time that the existence of this secret chamber, and how and with whom I had discovered it, is publicly disclosed.

  4

  THE FATEFUL DAY

  After the 1995 visit to Egypt that culminated with the discovery of the secret chamber, one more thing remained on my list of “must see” there: To enter the Relieving Chambers and examine the red paint markings—the sole “evidence” supporting the Khufu-built-it “Holy Grail” of Egyptologists, and the one I had suggested was a forgery.

  I broached the subject to Abbas, urging him to use his good standing with Dr. Hawass (whose new titles, including Secretary General, Supreme Council of Antiquities, reflected his increasing authority). Abbas promised to “work on it.” But the time for another group tour of Egypt was not right: Tourists began to be targets of murderous terrorist attacks; and the attacks included the shooting up of tour buses—even at the entrance to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo!—that belonged to the transportation company Abbas was using . . . We changed destinations, and arranged several tours to sites in the Americas of which I have also been writing.

  Egyptian antiquities were also beset by other problems, besides terrorism. The “Gantenbrink Affair” left a lingering bitterness; the European press, in particular, felt that Gantenbrink was mistreated, and it questioned why has there been no follow-up to the discovery of the barrier (in the southern “air shaft”). The delay gave rise to speculation and conspiracy suspicions. Why is discovery avoided? What is being hidden?

  In the United States, the West-Schoch claims continued to sizzle, especially after the admitted “Sphinx cavities” discoveries. Was there indeed a “Hall of Records” under the Sphinx as Edgar Cayce had predicted? Reviving its Giza involvements, the A.R.E. sponsored (in 1996) a new high-tech research project, led by Dr. Joseph Schor of New York. It came to an abrupt halt due to frenzied media publicity that included a TV documentary, “The Mystery of the Sphinx,” which angered the Egyptian authorities. It all fueled a climate of distrust and speculation.

  As the Sphinx Conservation Program—a favorite of Dr. Hawass—progressed and the familiar ancient monument began to disappear under fresh masonry (fig. 36), the “true” motives for the project came into questioning. Archaeological and related journals were filled with accusations, explanations, and rebuttals. The atmosphere of suspicions and recriminations was reinforced by reports that “outsiders” have been selectively allowed up into the Relieving Chambers. In spite of constant claims by the authorities that the Relieving Chambers were inaccessible, photographs began to appear in Europe of (unidentified) visitors up there (figs. 37, 38). The photographs revealed extensive graffiti all over the place, some with dates going back to 1839 (Vyse’s time!), much of it with 1940s dates—identifiable as the handiwork of British military personnel who swarmed inside the pyramids during World War II—but some possibly much more recent. The photographs also captured inscribed cartouches (fig. 39). Visitors to the Great pyramid began to report that some kind of work was being carried on above the King’s Chamber.

  In view of all that, I pressed Abbas to use his contacts with Hawass to let me in too. Abbas and I were planning at the time a tour of Israel, and I felt that it was now-or-never for my chance to see the “quarry marks” (as Howard Vyse had called them). The tour—“A Unique Expedition to the Holy Land with Zecharia Sitchin”—was finally set for September 1997 (fig. 40), but adding an “Egypt extension” to the group’s eleven days in Israel was impractical. I therefore suggested to Abbas that just he and I should go to Egypt from Israel after the group tour ended—if he could get his friend Hawass to let us in.

  Figure 36

  As the tour date was nearing, Abbas came through. Calling from Los Angeles, “I obtained the permission from Zahi [Hawass],” he triumphantly told me.

  Seventeen years after writing about the Great Pyramid Forgery in The Stairway to Heaven, I was finally going to enter the “scene of the crime.”

  Figure 37

  Figure 38

  Figure 39

  Among my fans who registered for the Israel tour was Wallace M. Wally, as all who knew him called him—a recognized authority on prosthetics and other technical wizardry and a veteran of previous tours whose ability to take pictures even in restricted circumstances made him my “tour photographer.” He was the right person to take along to witness and record what we would find up there, in the narrow chambers; and I spoke to him about it. He readily agreed to join me on the side trip to Egypt—a detour that required a different flight plan, with Lufthansa via Frankfurt.

  Abbas added Wally’s name to the list pre-submitted to the office of the Director of Giza Antiquities, describing him as my photographer; in fact I had an additional confidential task for Wally, for which he took along some of his small tools: To try to get a sample of the red ink with which the “quarry marks” were inscribed, to be analyzed for their age. I felt that this was important, not only because of my forgery conclusions, but also having in mind the Perry remark quoted in the first chapter: That the red paint used for the inscriptions “was a composition of red ochre called by the Arabs ‘moghrah’ which is still in use”—“still in use” in his time—a remark whose implications for archaeological forg ery made one wonder whether the paint’s use has continued beyond the nineteenth century A.D. . . .

  Figure 40

  And so it was that on September 25th, 1997, after the group left Israel early in the morning on the flight back to the USA, the three of us—Abbas, Wally, and me—left in the evening on a flight to Cairo. We were met there by Abass’s Cairo office manager, who drove us to our hotel—the Mena House, right next to the pyramids.

  It was a short and mostly sleepless night; yet I was, as I recall, the very first hotel guest to come to the restaurant for breakfast in the morning, choosing a seat for a full view of the Great Pyramid. It loomed large, overw
helming, and beckoning—as if challenging me with its secrets, as if saying: Try, if you can . . .

  When Abbas and Wally joined me, I outlined to them a plan of action. I had with me the sketches, copied from Vyse’s book, of the red-ink markings and their location, and prepared a sheet with the cartouche-containing ones, fig. 41 (oddly, all the cartouches appeared to be upside down, as though painted by someone lying on his back). Since I had no idea of how we would enter the chambers or for how long, I made three sets, one for each one of us. Then, loaded with cameras with both black & white and color films, flashlights, sheets, pens, and excited anticipation, we were driven by Abbas’s local manager up the road to the pyramids.

  Figure 41

  We first had to make a stop at the nearby administration office, where—so Abbas had arranged with Hawass—one of Hawass’s deputies was to take us into the Great Pyramid and up to the Relieving Chambers; an array of ladders was supposed to be ready there for us. While I and Wally remained in the car, Abbas went in to get the deputy director. We expected the procedure to take just a few minutes, but Abbas did not return after ten minutes, and after twenty minutes; half an hour passed—and Abbas was still in there . . .

  I decided to go in and see what was causing the delay. Wally, loaded with his cameras, came with me. We were told that Abbas was “inside,” meeting with Dr. Hawass. We were allowed into the Director’s office, and Hawass greeted me and invited me to sit down beside his desk, next to Abbas. I looked at Abbas, and he just raised an eyebrow, giving me no clue as to what was causing the delay.

  Abbas was discussing with me his plan for a conference on board an Alaska cruise ship, Hawass said to me; what do you (meaning I) think? Well, anything Abbas undertakes is worthwhile, I answered. Hawass then shifted the conversation to other subjects—none relating to the purpose of our being there that morning. I wondered what was going on.

  As the aimless conversation continued, it became obvious that Hawass was just killing time. Then it became clear why: His deputy—the one who was supposed to take us into the Great Pyramid—showed up with a newspaper which he had obtained in town. It was a daily newspaper known for its nationalistic positions, and it had a long article that criticized the government for allowing foreigners to “defile Egypt’s heritage” under the guise of archaeology. A segment was devoted to the foreigners who promote the idea that the Great Pyramid and Sphinx were built by Atlanteans or by extraterrestrials, thereby implying that the Egyptians themselves were incapable of such achievements. It was an insult to Egypt’s national pride, the article stated.

  So that was what Hawass was discussing with Abbas, waiting for the newspaper to be brought from the city! After the relevant paragraphs were read and translated, Hawass said to me: You will understand that in view of this attack I cannot let you go in, take pictures, and proclaim again that Khufu did not build the Pyramid . . .

  I was shocked. This is bad—this is ominous, I thought; perhaps one should have seen it coming—the terrorist attacks on foreign tourists, the abrupt stopping of certain exploration projects. But I could not accept such an abrupt stop to my project . . . Overcoming my shock, I vehemently protested: The three of us came to Egypt just for that, based on an explicit promise from you to let us in, I told Hawass; How can you go back on your word?

  Speaking to his deputy and to Abbas in Arabic, Hawass finally asked me and Wally to wait outside. A short while later Abbas came out. Hawass is very embarrassed, he said; so he will let you in—but no pictures; we must leave the cameras behind—there must not be any photographic record of this visit. I tried to protest, but Abbas said that Hawass overruled his deputy for this compromise: Go in without cameras, or not at all. I gave Wally an inquisitive look, and he responded with a slight nod. So be it, I told Abbas. We went out to the car, and the Egyptian aide, riding with us to the Pyramid, collected all the cameras and locked them in the car’s trunk.

  We entered the Pyramid through the familiar entrance, going all the way up through the majestic Grand Gallery (fig. 42). Where it ends, a large flat stone block known as the “Great Step” forms a platform in front of the ante-chamber that leads to the King’s Chamber (fig. 43). Reaching it and stopping there, we saw that above us workmen were standing on a ledge; from there, we assumed, the way would lead farther up to the Crawlway leading to Davison’s Chamber, and then via Vyse’s vertical Forced Passage enter the upper Relieving Chambers (see fig. 17). Hawass’s deputy shouted to them and they lowered to him a ladder; he climbed up, spoke to them, looked around, and climbed back down. All is ready for you, he said; we were to use this ladder to climb up to where the workmen were, and then we would continue farther up by means of additional ladders; it had to be done one at a time, he explained, because the ledge and the way up from it are narrow. And then he left.

  Figure 42

  Figure 43

  It looked like a flimsy and unsafe arrangement to me; so Wally volunteered to go up first. After Wally climbed from the ledge up the next ladder, Abbas went up, and called out to me from the ledge, encouraging me to follow. As he turned to climb farther up, I reached for the ladder and was about to take the first step up. At that moment I suddenly felt a mighty blow to my head: A large and heavy piece of wood, dropped from higher up, hit me smack on my head and knocked me down. Warm blood began to pour down from the top of my head, and I was certain that my skull had been cracked.

  I cried out in pain. Abbas, back on the ledge, shouted to me: What happened? “My skull is cracked, I am bleeding!” I shouted. He climbed down, grabbed hold of me, and half supporting, half carrying me as I staggered, rushed me out to our car, ordering his manager to drive back to the hotel. There’s a doctor there, he said. The handkerchief I was holding to my head was soaking with blood; blood was spilling on my clothing. I was sure it was my end, and myriad thoughts of finality raced through my mind.

  It took forever—so it seemed to me—to reach the hotel clinic. The doctor, American trained and speaking English, examined me, cleaned the wound, and bandaged it. I think it’s just superficial, he said, the blow just cut the skin on your head; but it’s advisable to take X-rays and make sure there is no internal concussion. Also, he said, you need a Tetanus shot, since what hit you could have been infected. He advised Abbas to take me to a hospital without delay.

  We returned to the lobby, where the anxious local manager of Abbas was waiting. Steadier and less apprehensive, I asked for a cup of coffee. We sat down to evaluate the situation. I kept asking Abbas what had happened, who dropped the piece of wood on me. He said he didn’t know; it was an accident. Was it? I said—it had nothing to do with the newspaper article? I don’t think I am safe in Egypt, I said. I think I’d better get back to New York right away, I told Abbas—tonight.

  Where is Wally? I asked. He must have stayed behind in the Pyramid, Abbas said. Ask him if he would rather stay one more day as originally scheduled or come with me tonight, if there are seats on the flight, I said to Abbas.

  His manager inquired and said there’s a hospital nearby; he could take me to it. It seemed advisable to let them take a look, at least get the recommended Tetanus shot. I left with him for the hospital, while Abbas was going to deal with the flight arrangements. Getting the Tetanus shot was no simple matter, but I’ll skip details of the experience.

  When we returned to the hotel, Wally was there; he had already heard what happened to me. His hand was bandaged; What happened to YOU? I inquired. He leaned toward me and said in a whisper: I tried to break off a piece of stone with red ink markings on it, and all I managed to do was to cut myself. He too could not explain how the piece of wood dropped—or was dropped—on me. Told of my plan to leave tonight, he said he’d come with me.

  We discussed again the day’s events. In spite of Abbas’s assurances that it was just an accident, I kept feeling it was deliberate. Does Hawass know what happened? I asked. For sure, Abbas said—I am sure it was reported to him. So why did he not call me to find out how I am? I asked—afte
r all, I came here this time by his invitation, in a manner of speaking. Maybe he intended to call you tomorrow, Abbas said. I wonder, I said, shaking my aching head in doubt.

  As I rested in my room until it was time to leave, I kept thinking about the day’s events. Without a close examination of the markings, without photographs, with no red-paint sample, was anything achieved?

  Later that evening we left for the airport. From the hotel we could see the searchlights and hear the music of the nightly Sound and Light show up the hill at Giza. It seemed quite ironic to me:

  At the end of my Fateful Day—the day I almost got killed inside the Great Pyramid—I was leaving empty handed; and the Great Pyramid, defiant, continued to keep its secrets.

  5

  OOPS IN THE CAIRO MUSEUM

  The Egyptian Museum is the depository of Egypt’s archaeological heritage—the place to which its archaeological finds, once discovered and moved, come for safekeeping, study, and display. Until its current ongoing expansion and renovation, it had been a pastel-colored two-storied building erected in 1900 in a quiet Cairo neighborhood—only to find itself by the end of the twentieth century in the city’s bustling center, bursting to the rafters with more than 100,000 archaeological artifacts.